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Thought of a Countess
By Amnelithtirsol
Yet can I not persuade me you are dead
Or that your corse corrupts in earth's dark womb,
Or that your beauties lie in a wormy bed,
Hid from the world in a low-delved tomb;
Could heaven for pity you so strictly doom?
O no! for something in thy face did shine
Above mortality that showed you are divine.
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Copyright 2003 Amnelithtirsol
Published on Sunday, May 18, 2003.
Filed under:
"Poetry"
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